


Apricot Kisses

by GreyMichaela



Series: Coffee Cake [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ace!Sam Winchester, Asexual Character, Fluff and Crack, I should be sleeping, M/M, Oh look, another Tumblr prompt, another burst of insanity on my part, instead I'm doing this, it's pure fluff and utterly SILLY, there's absolutely no point to this ficlet, welcome to my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Gabriel get hammered and decide that's the best time to cook dinner.  It turns out about like you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apricot Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm placing the blame firmly where it belongs; on [Susan](http://ihaveallthesefeelsokay.tumblr.com), who bullied me into writing this insane bit of cracky fluff at two am. ~facepalm~ (You should follow her if you don't - despite her propensity for forcing me to write crazy ficlets at unGodly hours, she's actually pretty awesome.)
> 
> Points to anyone who catches the nod to Misha and West at the end!
> 
> (This is set between the last two chapters posted - after Sam accepting the position and before they have the fight about the tickets.)

Sam didn’t drink often.  He didn’t like hangovers, and getting drunk always seemed like a little more trouble than it was worth. Which was not to say he didn’t enjoy a beer with his friends; he just rarely lost his cognitive function to alcohol.

Tonight was different, though.  Tonight he wanted to celebrate.  He’d been accepted as an apprentice to Edwin Rousseaux, for God’s sake; if ever there was a time to let loose a little, this was it.

Gabriel wasn’t in his dorm room when Sam got there, so he settled in with his six-pack of beer to wait.  Half an hour in, he pulled out a book and popped open the first beer, lying down on his stomach to read until Gabriel got back.

When his boyfriend finally did show up, Sam’s loose, easy mood vanished in an instant at what he saw on Gabriel’s face.  Pain was etched around his eyes and his mouth was set in a tight line, his left wrist cradled in his right hand.

Sam scrambled off the bed.  “Gabe, what happened?” He eased the shorter man to the bed, kneeling in front of him, and it was a measure of how much he must have been hurting that Gabriel actually let him.

“Walking…” Gabriel stopped to swallow.  “Walking home. Cyclist came up behind me; I didn’t hear them.  They clipped my shoulder, knocked me off the path.  Landed…landed on my wrist.”  He was breathing in short, shallow gasps, face pale.

Sam fought back a surge of anger.  “Did you see who it was?”  He eased Gabriel’s arm out, palpating it gently, fingers pressing in an attempt to determine if any further had been done to the still-healing bone.

Gabriel shook his head.  “Just a stupid accident, some asshole – ah!” Sam had found a tender spot.

“Sorry,” Sam murmured.  “I don’t think it’s re-broken, love, but you need something for the pain.”

Gabriel shook his head again, adamant.  “I don’t want anything.”

Sam reached up and cupped his cheek.  “The pills are safe, Gabe.  I’ll stay with you the whole time, okay?  Please take one for me? I hate to see you hurting like this.”

Gabriel sighed but finally nodded and Sam wasted no time scrambling for the leftover pills from Gabriel’s most recent hospital stay.  Gabriel accepted one reluctantly, swallowing it dry and closing his eyes.

“What’s with the beer?” he asked.

Sam blinked. He’d forgotten all about his plans.

“Oh…I was thinking we could celebrate us going to Louisiana,” he said. “I know you don’t like hard alcohol, but I didn't know how you felt about beer…never mind, though.”

Gabriel’s mouth twitched up.  “You can still drink, Sammy,” he said.  “It’s worth celebrating.  Give me about twenty minutes and I’ll be much better company.”

Sam leaned in for a kiss.  “You’re always good company, Gabe.”

 

They settled in to wait for the pill to take effect, Sam on his back on the floor with his beer in one hand, Gabriel on the bed on his stomach, trailing his good hand along Sam’s arm.

 

Sam could feel the alcohol beginning to kick in, a pleasant buzz setting up under his skin, making him feel relaxed and happy and at ease. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked Gabriel.

Gabriel hummed and kept tracing Sam’s freckles.  “I…feel…good,” he sang.  “No pain.  Feeling…no pain a’tall.”

Sam snorted and took another swig of his second beer.  “Glad to hear it.”  He tilted the bottle up and frowned.  It took him a minute to realize there was no more coming out because it was empty. He sat up and reached for the third one, missing the container at first grab.

Gabriel was laughing at him as he lay back.  “Two beers down and you’re already smashed?  Samshine, you are a _lightweight._ ”

Sam flipped him off and hiccupped.  “I’m not ‘smashed’,” he said with great dignity.  “I’m just a li’l buzzed, is all.”  He hiccupped again and covered his mouth.

Gabriel sat up.  “I’m hungry,” he announced.

Sam stared up at him from the floor.  “Okay. Gonna have to order in, though. ‘S too late to go anywhere.”

“Don’t wanna order in,” Gabriel said, standing and swaying a little before stepping over Sam’s prone body on his way to the door.  “Wanna make you something.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he scrambled upright, grabbing the remaining beer as an afterthought before dashing after Gabriel’s disappearing footsteps.  He caught him in the hall.  “Gabe?  Gabe, maybe not the best idea right now, don’t you think?  Maybe we should order a pizza.”

Gabriel beamed up at him, going on tiptoe to kiss his chin.  “Nuh uh.  Gonna cook for you. Don’t worry s’much, Sammy. I’m a good cook!” He marched toward the communal kitchen and Sam trailed behind, finishing his beer as he followed.

Inside the large, open room, Gabriel headed for the pantry and disappeared within. Sam sat down at the counter and cracked open the next beer.

A loud crash startled him and Gabriel popped out of the pantry, covered in flour, arms full of ingredients, looking disgruntled.

“It attacked me,” he informed Sam, who choked on his mouthful of beer.

Gabriel set his armful on the counter and brushed futilely at his clothes.

“What are you making?” Sam asked, leaning forward to look.  Spaghetti noodles, flour, crushed garlic and…apricot jam?

“Apricot chicken,” Gabriel said happily.  He began pulling out pots and pans, humming to himself.

“When did you learn to cook, anyway?” Sam asked.

“Martin taught me,” Gabriel said, testing the temperature of the water in one of the pots. 

“Oh, right,” Sam said, fishing out another beer. “Martin.  Of course.  Who’s Martin again?”

“Our cook,” Gabriel said over his shoulder.  “At least, until he got caught boning one of the kitchen maids.”

“Strict ‘no frat…fraterni…’ shit...‘no fucking’ rule, huh?” Sam asked.

Gabriel shot him a grin.  “Nah, Dad didn’t care about that.  But he didn’t much appreciate them goin’ at it on the table where we ate.”

Sam nearly inhaled beer and Gabriel slapped him on the back through the ensuing coughing fit.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued once Sam was no longer in danger, “He made the best apricot chicken ever.  I think I have all the right ingredients.”

“I hope so,” Sam muttered, taking another swallow of beer.  “Don’t wanna be poisoned ‘fore I even have a chance to meet Edwin fuckin’ Rousseaux.”

Gabriel peered at him.  “You swear a lot more when you’re drunk,” he announced, as if he’d uncovered a fascinating secret.

“No shit,” Sam said, mainly to make Gabriel laugh.

It worked, Gabriel’s eyes turning golden in his amusement as he giggled. Turning back to the stove, he frowned at the saucepan. 

“Butter,” he said abruptly, and dragged the fridge open.

Sam watched, feeling ridiculously happy and relaxed.  Gabriel was enjoying himself, making…whatever it was he was making…and Sam had missed the laughing lilt to Gabriel’s voice even more than he’d realized.  He hoped the food would be edible, at least.

Gabriel was humming again, stirring the sizzling butter until it melted and then adding several tablespoons of flour, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he measured.

Sam pouted when he reached for another beer and realized the container was empty. Maybe there was more in the fridge. He hopped off the stool and waited for the room to stop swaying around the edges before making his way to the refrigerator and peering inside.

No beer, but there was…Sam squinted.  Crème de menthe? Sam shrugged and pulled it out, rooting through the cupboard to find a glass.  Gabriel was carefully adding milk to the flour and butter in the pan, the tip of his tongue poking out as he stirred.

Sam swallowed.  _That tongue._   He knew full well what that tongue could do and he wanted, suddenly and desperately, to taste it again, to feel it in his mouth.

Gabriel glanced up into Sam’s face and stopped dead.  “Sam?” he asked.

Sam took a step forward and Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.  “No,” he said, pointing the whisk at him.  “No funny business in the kitchen, pal.  ‘M cookin’ here, remember?”  He waved at the stove, spattering drops of milk from the whisk.

Sam prowled closer and Gabriel backed away, holding the whisk in front of him as if that would somehow fend Sam off.  He fetched up hard against the island counter and Sam pounced, boxing him in with an arm on either side of him and a growl of triumph as he attacked Gabriel’s chest where his shirt gaped open.

Gabriel gasped, gripping Sam’s forearms, arching up into his hot mouth as Sam suckled and nipped his way up Gabriel’s neck.

“I was doin’…something…” Gabriel panted, but then Sam’s lips were on his, cutting off whatever came next, licking his way into Gabriel’s mouth with a groan that Gabriel echoed.

It felt like an eternity but was probably less than a minute when Gabriel jerked away with a curse and ducked out from under Sam’s arm, diving for the stove. Sam seated himself on the stool again, this time with his back to the counter so he could lean his elbows on it, and watched in triumph as Gabriel tried to salvage the sauce.

Stretching out one long arm, he grabbed the glass of crème de menthe from the end of the counter and downed it in several absent gulps, eyes devouring Gabriel’s trim figure, the muscular, slightly bowed legs in their faded denim, the firm ass that Sam enjoyed exploring so much, and the broad shoulders moving freely under the soft cotton t-shirt.

“Keep looking at me like that,” Gabriel said, back still turned, “And we’re gonna end up burning the house down around our ears.”

Sam grinned and poured some more alcohol.  He was exceedingly pleased with life, he decided.  He had the best boyfriend in the world, a job opportunity many would kill for, and he was getting an excellent drunk on.  He giggled at his choice of words and reached for the bottle for another refill.

Gabriel was swaying a little, his movements slow and a little unfocused. “’M forgetting somethin’,” he muttered.

Sam held up the jar of apricots.  “This?”

Gabriel reached for the jar and Sam held it up out of reach.  Gabriel scowled.

“This jar…costs,” Sam informed him.  “A lot.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes.  “What do you want?”

“Kiss,” Sam said.  “’Least one, preferably five or maybe six.” He swayed a little on the stool and then sat up a little straighter as Gabriel stepped between his knees.  This close, he could see that Gabriel’s pupils were blown; whether with lust or opiates, Sam wasn’t sure.  Possibly a combination, he decided.

Gabriel caught his head while he was thinking, pulling him forward and slotting their mouths together.  The kiss was sloppy and sweet and Sam found himself chasing after it as Gabriel pulled away.

“Hand it over,” Gabriel said instead.

“I have a better idea,” Sam said.  He twisted the lid off and stuck one long finger inside before Gabriel could stop him, pulling it out covered in apricot jam.  He smeared it across his lips, loving the way Gabriel’s eyes heated as they watched him.

“I think you should come get it,” Sam said, and then Gabriel’s mouth was on his again, licking the jam off and slipping inside and Sam could taste apricots and honey and beer and he whimpered before he could stop himself.

He dipped his finger back into the jar and drew it down Gabriel’s throat, entranced with the way the sticky golden substance clung to his skin, dripping in slow motion down toward his chest.  Gabriel shivered and Sam leaned in to clean him up, licking wet stripes up his neck all the way to his jawline. 

“Need…” Gabriel’s voice was hoarse, pleading, and Sam knew without looking that he was desperately hard in his jeans.

“What do you need, Gabe?” Sam taunted.  “Me? Or the jam?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Gabriel growled, and caught Sam’s wrist, trapping it against the counter and scooping out a heaping finger’s worth of jam.  He pressed the finger into Sam’s mouth and Sam moaned as sweetness exploded across his tongue again, and then Gabriel was twisting the jar out of Sam’s hand and dumping the entire thing into the saucepan before Sam could stop him.

Sam slumped back against the counter, pouting.  “You’re no fun at all,” he complained.

Gabriel added the pasta to the boiling water in the other pot and smirked at Sam. “You’ll thank me,” he said. Then he froze, dismay slamming his eyebrows together.  “Oh God.” He dove for the fridge, yanking the door open and rummaging frantically through its contents but coming up empty-handed.

“What?” Sam asked, worried.

Gabriel’s eyes lifted to meet his.  “I…don’t have any...chicken,” he confessed.

Sam stared at him, confounded.  “You mean…you have all the ingredients for apricot chicken… _except_ the chicken?” he demanded.

Gabriel nodded, shoulders slumped. 

A snicker escaped from Sam’s mouth, then another, and Gabriel glowered at him. Sam tried to apologize but he couldn’t speak around the giggles.  He flapped a hand weakly at Gabriel, who was glaring.

“Apricot…no chicken!” Sam gasped.  “Pasta with…jam sauce!”  He fell back against the counter, holding his ribs as he howled and Gabriel’s lips began to twitch unwillingly, until he was laughing as hard as Sam, collapsed against the taller man and gasping for air.

So dinner was a bust, and cleaning up the mess they’d made was something they’d have to tackle when they were sober or they were going to end up even filthier than they already were, but all things considered, Sam decided as they staggered back to their room, it had turned out to be an excellent evening after all.


End file.
